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We were driving for days, so it seems, curving time back on itself with each turn of the wheel. 

The sight was melting away with its formation to the rhythm of the drips of our sweat.


a lazy crystallization on the tip of the hair till it dense and it drops.

touches the exposed skin, sets off and glides, slows down with each knoll of the spine, till it reaches the margins of our T-­‐shirts and the car seat,

there surfaced a lake.


The wind was reaching us through the narrow cracks of the side-­‐windows, clearing, in a monotonous  draft,  the  minds’ plains.    


like a drifter that is staring at the shore, the waves are hiding revealing his scope, we were blazing with blindness at the long straight road 

while the sun was stripping off and revealing its rubies


Light hexagons rose from behind the hills.


Four-­lane highway, rising and lowering barriers


maybe beyond it is Mexico.




“I have to pee,” my brother complained,

and I saw the narrow margins of the fenced road I was driving.

Beyond the hills it was possible to recognize a local village cornered by a caravan settlement, some dirt trails, a fresh military base.


“Not here, I’ll stop at the checkpoint, pee behind the soldiers.”



( Ruslana Lichtzier, Ariel, O.T. of Palestine, June, 2009)






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